by Beth Wiseman
Brooke motioned for Owen to sit down on the couch, and within seconds Meghan was on one side, Spencer on the other.
“This is a dumb show.” Spencer leaned back against the couch as the opening credits of the cartoon began to run.
Owen had assumed it would be him and Brooke relaxing, watching a movie, and maybe even talking—getting to know each other better, as friends do. But when Meghan reached over and took his hand, Owen found himself in strange new territory. And when she leaned her head against his shoulder, he stopped breathing. He glanced up at Brooke, who was smiling.
Alarms were going off all over the place, but something about being here seemed to dull the warnings. Maybe it was because he and Brooke had both already admitted that they just wanted to be friends. Or maybe it was the way the place smelled—like honeysuckle or jasmine. It was inviting and warm and incredibly different from the way he and Virginia had lived.
He briefly tried to picture how Virginia might have restored an old house like this. He imagined it would have been cold, the way she was, not warm and inviting like this house. He couldn’t even imagine why Virginia had ever wanted to move to this quaint small town away from malls, salons, and all her social activities. He’d never pondered it before, but it seemed she would have been a fish out of water. Or did Owen just see her differently now? Either way, Owen made a mental note to make his home warm and inviting. And it was going to smell good.
Brooke sat down in a navy-blue recliner next to the tan couch, pushed the button to raise her legs, and stared at the television, but Owen suspected her mind was elsewhere.
It wasn’t long before the episode ended. Brooke sent her children up to bed, promising to be right up to tuck them in.
“It’s already ten thirty, but I’m still up for a movie if you are.” Brooke’s eyes were puffy, and he wanted to ask her if she just wanted to talk, but he knew from experience that sometimes a bit of distraction can be the best thing.
“Sure.”
“Okay. Let me go tuck them in. There’s the movie I picked if you want to get it ready in the DVD player.” She pointed to a hutch on the wall near the television, then left the room to go upstairs.
Owen got up and moved toward the hutch. He saw several books stacked up on a shelf, some sort of toy . . . and a thin DVD case. He picked it up and sighed.
The Notebook.
Brooke got Spencer and Meghan all settled, even though Spencer argued with her about why he should be able to stay up and watch the movie with them. Brooke sagged with relief when she finally closed his door and started down the stairs. All she wanted to do at this point was put in another DVD and lose herself in someone else’s drama. She was glad they’d be watching a movie and not having to dive into small talk—or worse, talk about why she was upset. She walked down the stairs in her flip-flops and the same jeans and white T-shirt she’d had on earlier. No wonder he had no interest in asking her out. Only once had he seen her in anything besides jeans and T-shirts—that time she wore her white capris and nice pink shirt, a slight step up. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn a dress. Even for church, she usually wore her nicest jeans and a blouse.
Whatever. She had enough problems without worrying what Owen Saunders thought of her. Dating wasn’t on her agenda either. Unlike Mom and . . . Harold.
“So, do you like popcorn with your late-night movies?” Brooke stopped in front of where he sat on the couch.
“I’m fine with anything. Whatever you want. I put the movie in.”
“Feel free to kick off your shoes and put your feet on the coffee table.” She grinned. “Because I will.” She turned to leave, talking over her shoulder. “Be back shortly with some popcorn.”
When she returned with a bowl of popcorn and two Diet Cokes, Owen did indeed have his socked feet up on her coffee table, and for a moment she could almost see Travis sitting there. They’d loved to stay up late and watch movies. It was their time to just sit and cuddle, enjoy some down-time. No cuddling tonight, but she hoped she could put her thoughts about her parents on pause for just a little while.
She handed Owen the bowl and one of the sodas. Then she sat down beside him, but not too close. All of a sudden this whole thing felt weird, and she wondered why he’d wanted to come over in the first place. Maybe he didn’t sleep well either. Or maybe he just hated being alone. That was probably it. Brooke didn’t think she’d want to be alone in a place as big and empty as the Hadley mansion. She wanted to ask him why he’d bought the place after his divorce, since it was just him, but he was already hitting Play on the remote, so she settled back and took a sip of her drink.
“Have you seen this one?” Brooke kicked her feet up on the coffee table and reached into the bowl on Owen’s lap, pulling back a handful of popcorn.
“Yeah. It’s a good movie.”
Brooke nodded.
They made it about halfway through the movie before Brooke started to question why she’d chosen this particular film to watch—about a couple that was together, then separated for several years, then back together again. Brooke’s parents had been separated for twenty years, not just seven years like the couple in the movie. And they had been married when her father left them—also unlike the movie. Just the same, Brooke began to recognize the similarities, and she wished she could turn it off, but Owen seemed entranced. She’d expected him to talk during the movie, the way guys tend to do during a chick flick, but Owen was quiet.
Travis loved this movie too.
As she watched the older version of the couple in the movie, she pictured her own parents on the screen, and her mind drifted. She wondered how her mother was doing and when she’d talk to her again. Brooke missed her already.
Lost in her thoughts, she missed the ending. But she’d seen it a dozen times, so it didn’t really matter. She turned to look at Owen and blurted, “Are you crying?”
“No.” Owen blinked a few times.
Travis had cried when he watched this movie with her the first time, and every time thereafter. Another reason she couldn’t believe she’d picked this movie. She and Travis hadn’t enjoyed the happy ending she’d always dreamed of, and they hadn’t died together in their sleep. Instead, a drunk driver had ripped him from their lives when Travis was on his way back from an antique sale in Austin.
“It’s okay if you are. Travis cried every time he watched it.” Brooke felt like she was betraying Travis the minute she said it. Travis had always been embarrassed when he cried, and he hadn’t done it often.
She kept her eyes on Owen. He was a tall, athletic kind of guy. Actually, it was cute to see him in this tender moment. She plucked a tissue from the box to her right and pushed it his way.
“I’m not crying.” He took the tissue but just held on to it. Then he turned to her and smiled. “Okay, maybe just a little.” He scowled. “I thought women always boohooed during movies like this. My wife even shed a few tears, and that was a lot for her.”
Something about the way he said it led Brooke to believe that he was still bitter, so she just stepped on out there. Why not? This day had been horrible, and maybe there was a story there, something to further distract her from all that was wrong with her own life. “So, can I ask you . . . why does a newly divorced man leave the big city and buy the biggest house he can find—one that needs a tremendous amount of work—in a dinky little town like Smithville? Are you planning to fix it up and sell it?” She twisted to face him, knowing she was being nosy, but too curious not to ask.
Owen rubbed his chin for a few moments and didn’t look at her at first, then turned to face her. “I guess I could give you some hopped-up version of the truth, but I really bought it just to spite my ex. She’d always wanted to live in Smithville, ever since she saw Hope Floats. So when we got divorced, I found her dream house and bought it.” His mouth crooked into a mirthless smile. “With Virginia, bigger was always better. She’d sometimes made noises about opening a bed-and-breakfast or something, but I really think
she wanted a place for her friends to come and visit—a big house to show off. I can’t picture Virginia running a B&B and tending to the needs of others.”
Maybe bitterness was an understatement if this guy changed cities and bought a huge house, all out of spite. “Then will you sell it?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead.” He shook his head. “You know, I always knew what I wanted. Success in my business. Virginia. Then a house full of kids. So now that it’s all fallen apart, I have no idea what I want. I’m a shell of a man wandering around with no idea what to do with myself. No goals. No plans.”
“That’s sad.” And then she couldn’t help it. She grinned. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not funny, and I don’t mean to laugh. Really. But shell of a man?” She covered her mouth with her hand.
Owen lifted one bushy eyebrow. “Not very sensitive, are you? As a matter of fact, I didn’t see you crying during the movie.”
You didn’t look close enough. Brooke recalled the way Travis used to tell her that he could see her crying even when she didn’t shed any tears by the way her throat moved. She’d always been good at hiding her emotions—until earlier today. She shrugged. “I’ve seen the movie a million times.”
“So it sounds like life threw you a curveball as well. I’m sorry about your husband.”
His voice was so sincere, Brooke regretted teasing him. “I’m really sorry about you and your wife too.” She paused, thinking about Travis. “Do you still talk to her? What’s her name? Virginia?”
Owen shifted his weight on the couch, and his voice took on an almost-unpleasant tone, deep and raspy. “Only if I have to.”
“Hmm. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. That woman is . . . toxic.” Owen gritted his teeth, and Brooke wondered what Virginia had done to make Owen so bitter.
“Toxic. Strong word.” Brooke yawned.
“Sorry. I should probably go soon.” Owen edged to the front of the couch.
“So what happened? Why did y’all divorce?” Brooke scrunched her face up. “Sorry. Small-town living. You’ll have to get used to it. We like to know everyone else’s business.”
He smiled briefly. “Well then, I guess everyone will love my story.” He paused, and Brooke sat taller, eager to hear. “Virginia had an affair with my business partner. I caught them in his office one night.”
Brooke wondered if that kind of betrayal could be as painful as death. Surely not. He could still pick up the phone and call Virginia if he really wanted to. “That must have been awful.”
He shook his head as he stared at the floor. “Funny thing is, I always wanted children. Virginia was adamant that she didn’t want any.” He smiled as he turned to Brooke. “Guess the joke’s on her. Virginia and Gary’s baby is due sometime next month.”
Eleven
Hunter leaned over the couch to make sure his grandma was still breathing. He’d been out looking for jobs all morning, and Grandma didn’t look like she’d moved from the couch since he’d left.
“I’m alive, boy. Quit hovering over me.”
Hunter jumped back when she opened her eyes and spoke. “You need anything?” He grabbed his belt loops and pulled his jeans up, knowing Grandma didn’t like them “hanging off his butt,” as she called it.
“I need you to have a job. You find one yet?” She grunted as she pushed herself to a seated position. She lit a cigarette, then glared at him long and hard.
“I’ll find one.” He slid into the recliner and leaned his head back.
“You been lookin’ all week. Ain’t nobody got nothing you can do? Groceries don’t pay for themselves ’round here.” She blew a puff of smoke in his direction.
“I’ll find something. What I really need is a car to get around, to go somewhere else besides Smithville. No one likes me around here.”
Grandma took a long drag, blew two smoke rings, and crinkled her face all up. “And whose fault is that?” She crossed her legs and pulled her pink robe around her. “Cars take money anyways. Gas ain’t free neither.”
Hunter stood up and walked to the kitchen, hoping there was some leftover meatloaf from last night.
“Meatloaf’s on the bottom shelf of the fridge,” his grandma said as he passed by her.
By the time he’d finished his lunch and walked back into the living room, she’d already passed out again. His eyes drifted to the half-empty bottle on the floor beside the couch. “Vodka ain’t free neither,” he muttered to himself as he walked out the front door. He didn’t see any point in looking for jobs around here, but he hit the streets just the same, his mind wandering all over the place.
As he kicked a loose rock at his feet, he pictured himself with a real job and a normal family. A mom who welcomed him home with a kiss and a snack after school, then wanted to know all about his day. A father who wanted to play catch and take him to ball games, who would teach him how to be a man. In Hunter’s mind, they’d all eat supper together at a big long table in a pretty house. No roaches, no one hitting each other, always plenty to eat . . . and no one drinking or smoking or shooting up.
“Hey!”
Hunter turned to his right and slowed down.
Great. It was Strong Guy. He lowered his head and kept walking. His gut told him to run, but that didn’t get him very far the last time, only in trouble for something he didn’t do.
Strong Guy yelled at him again, so he stopped. “You talkin’ to me?”
Strong Guy walked across his yard in a pair of stupid-looking blue-jean overalls with paint splattered all over him. He was old. Probably thirty or forty.
“Hunter, right?”
Hunter stood taller. “Yeah. I didn’t do nothin’, if that’s what you’re thinking. Just looking for a job.”
Strong Guy ran an arm across his forehead. He was sweating like a pig. “What kind of work are you looking for?”
“Anything that’ll make a buck.” He folded his arms across his chest. Seemed like a long shot, but . . . “Why? You got something I can do for money?”
“Plenty. You handy with a paintbrush or a hammer and nails?” Strong Guy raised an eyebrow.
Hunter tipped his head to one side, squinting from the sun’s glare coming over the top of Strong Guy’s house. “I reckon I can do both.”
Strong Guy held out his hand. “I’m Owen Saunders.”
Hunter slowly extended his own. “Hunter Lewis.”
“Well, Hunter, I got a real mess here. I’m building a closet in my bedroom, trying to overhaul a kitchen, and all the floors in this house need to be redone. I’ve got AC people coming in another week or so, but for now I have a couple of window units cooling the downstairs, so the working conditions aren’t too bad.”
Hunter wasn’t sure he’d ever had a job working inside, much less in air-conditioning. His last job had been working at the Oldhams’ farm. He’d liked taking care of the horses, and they’d seemed to like him too. He hadn’t even minded the heat or the smelly stables. To this day he didn’t know why Mr. Oldham let him go. He’d said it was for money reasons, but Hunter figured someone probably got to him, told him what a bad kid Hunter was.
“You really offering me a job?” Didn’t seem to make sense. This guy already knew about Hunter. He’s the one who ratted him out to the cops.
Mr. Saunders nodded. “If you’re interested.”
It seemed too good to be true. The guy was probably planning to pay him pennies, then work him like an old hound dog. “How much you payin’?” He knew he wasn’t in a position to be choosy, but . . .
“I can start you out at ten dollars an hour. Then if you do good work, I’ll bump it to fifteen dollars an hour after one month.”
Hunter had never made more than seven dollars an hour, so he quickly picked his jaw up off the ground, swallowed hard, and focused on playing it cool. “I guess that’d be all right.”
“When can you start?”
Hunter thought about how proud his grandma would be. “As soon as you w
ant me to.” He paused. “Mister, why are you doing this?”
Mr. Saunders scratched his chin, then let out a heavy sigh. “Because I’m tired of busting my rear all by myself. I need the help, and some company would be nice.”
Even if it just lasted a couple of days, that would buy plenty of groceries. He knew he should keep his mouth shut, but this still seemed too good to be true. “But you know about, uh, about—”
“I don’t know anything. I’m new here.” Mr. Saunders shrugged. “So, you want the job? I’d expect you here at eight in the morning, with an hour for lunch, then stay until five.”
Hunter swallowed hard again as he calculated that to be eighty dollars per day. Four hundred dollars for the week if Mr. Saunders kept him on that long. Grandma would probably cook all his favorites, and maybe she’d look at him like a good provider for the only family he had left. “I reckon I can do that.”
Mr. Saunders reached into his pocket and pulled out two twenties. “Here. You don’t want to ruin your clothes. I picked these up at that resale shop, the one close to the post office.” He pointed to those overalls he had on, and Hunter tried not to cringe. He reminded himself how much money he’d be making and accepted the twenties.
“Just plan on being here Monday morning. Tomorrow is Saturday, and I might do some work, but I don’t expect you to work on the weekends.”
Hunter figured this must be some kind of trick. Had to be. Strong Guy had hauled him off to the police, and now he was offering him a ton of money to do a real eight-to-five job. He looked down at his cheap, worn tennis shoes and shook his head for a moment, then looked back up. “Mr. Saunders, you only gonna work me for a day or two, then say I stole something? Then the cops would take me back to jail? Is that what you’re wanting?”
Mr. Saunders laughed. “First of all, call me Owen. Mr. Saunders makes me feel like an old guy.”
You are an old guy. Hunter waited for him to go on.
